


5 Times Peter Stayed Awake

by LostSaturn



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Sleepy Peter Parker, Sleepy Tony, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Wrote this instead of studying for finals, im crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2019-09-22 10:18:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17057948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostSaturn/pseuds/LostSaturn
Summary: ....and the 1 time he couldn't.





	1. Silent Night

“Boss, you’ve been awake for over 48 hours.”

Tony paused, twirling his screwdriver in one hand and scribbling on a coffee-stained notepad with the other. “Okay, and…?”

“Miss Potts has instructed me to remind you to get at least five hours of sleep every night.”

“Well, tell her I’m a big boy and I can handle myself.” He twiddled with the corner of his notepad and frowned. “Is Peter asleep yet?”

“No, sir. Mr. Parker is currently working on homework in his room. Would you like me to give him a message?”

“No, no….” But even as he said it, something tightened in Tony’s chest. “Just….make sure he gets at least six hours tonight, okay?”

“Of course, sir.” Tony could’ve sworn he’d heard a touch of amusement in her voice, and he didn’t blame her. Even he saw the irony.

It wasn’t that Tony hated sleeping.

Sure, it was probably unhealthy to pull two all-nighters in a row. And, yeah, maybe the last six mugs of coffee he’d devoured had been a bit overkill. But Tony wasn’t tired. At least, he didn’t want to be.

The real problem, the contingency to the gamble of sleep, was that nothing ever really left. If Tony had learned anything in his years of existence, it was that _no one_ ever really left.

Not the men that plunged him under greasy buckets of water in Afghanistan, the smell of blood on his shirt and rusty iron pulsing through his veins.

Not the piercing eyes of the gold-coiffed Chitauri, their weapons gleaming and armor shot through, last screeches echoing in his mind as he drifted farther into the black.

Not Peter’s dust-choked screams on Homecoming night, his nightmares spilling into day, a secret Tony had only discovered through a series of surveillance cameras and Youtube videos after the Vulture fight.

His dreams sent him back, a soldier returning against his will to battles he’d never won.

_Focus, Tony._

His head was swimming blearily in work. And yet it felt so much clearer muddled in equations, in thoughts of Cap’s new shield and nanobots and reminders to replace Peter’s parachute.

The kid needed sleep. Tony didn’t.

And so he kept working.

Peter was staying over for the next two weeks of school before winter break, since May would be out of town on a work call for the month. Tony had been planning on asking Natasha to train Peter in hand-to-hand combat in the meantime (God knows he needed it), but frankly, a part of him was scared she’d accidentally kill the kid.

Yeah, maybe not the best idea.

Tony swallowed another gulp of coffee, groaning when his eyes met the empty bottom of the mug. _Just great._

“Need a refill?”

Tony whirled back around, and his eyes caught Peter as the kid stepped out of the elevator, two steaming mugs in hand and a warm knit blanket draped over his shoulders. His pajamas were a couple sizes too big, with alarmingly bright blue and red stripes (perfect for Spiderman himself, Tony thought with a smile). The kid’s hair was disheveled and riddled with unruly curls, and Tony had a strange (but not totally unfamiliar) urge to tuck them back into place.

“Pete, it’s late. What are you doing down here?”

“Two in the morning isn’t so bad. I thought I’d keep you company.”

Something in Tony’s chest swelled, but he pushed it down with a frown, sighing as a yawn escaped from the kid’s lips. “It’s late, squirt. FRIDAY said you’re supposed to be doing homework, anyway.”

“I just finished.” Peter settled down in one of the chairs facing Tony and slid a hot coffee toward the older man. “So you’re spying on me now?”

“Someone’s gotta keep you from doing anything stupid.”

“Speak for yourself." He folded his arms defiantly across his chest. "I know you haven’t slept in at _least_ two days.”

“I’m Ironman, kid. I don’t need sleep.”

“I think anyone with common sense would disagree.”

Tony rolled his eyes and hid a begrudging smirk behind his new mug, watching Peter gingerly blow across the top of his mug to cool it down. The smell of coffee wove thickly through the air, and the billionaire frowned.  

"Since when do you drink coffee, Pete?"

"Since today." Peter sighed. "Exams start next week, and there's no way I'm gonna be prepared without staying up late for the next few days."

"That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea...." The kid groaned. "I think my brain is _melting._ "

"Are you even old enough for coffee? Doesn't that stuff stunt your growth?"

"I'm not a little _kid_ , Mr. Stark."

"You _definitely_ are in those Spiderman PJs, kid - which, by the way, are _way_ too big for you. When did you even get those?" Tony had meant the tease as a joke, but it seemed to hit a little harder than the older man had expected. Peter seemed to pull in on himself, brown eyes flitting sheepishly to the floor, and before Tony could stumble to reel in whatever he'd said that had ticked the kid off, he was already giving an almost embarrassed explanation.

"I've had them for about a year, now. May likes getting bigger clothes for me so I can grow into them, cause, y'know, it's kinda expensive to get new stuff every year...."

"Oh." Tony was an _idiot._

"I-I mean, it's not a big deal or anything. Like, May and I have enough to go around, it's just....money gets tight, with just her and me, and sometimes she likes to save....but, really, it's fine. I promise."

"Kid....if you ever need anything, you can tell me. You know that, right?"

"Y-yeah, yeah....obviously." And that, it seemed, was the end of the conversation. Tony decided to let it drop - for _now_. There was no doubt that he'd have to drag the kid out for a shopping spree in the future, especially if money was tighter than he was letting on. And it probably was.

With a sleepy smile, Peter readjusted the blanket around his shoulders and laid back in his chair - which, to Tony’s reluctant amusement, happened to be a wheely chair Happy had gotten for the kid on his 16th birthday. Needless to say, it fit Peter perfectly, and the only problem with his constant and unrelenting spinning was the fact that, if he got a little _too_ fast, Peter would occasionally lose control and crash straight into one of the bots. Tony had lost count of how many times he’d had to reattach a limb to poor Dum-E.

“You know you don’t have to stay up with me, Pete. I’m gonna be working pretty late tonight.”

“I don’t mind.” Peter shrugged, taking a quick glance at Tony’s messy notes. “I don’t want you to be alone every night.”

Well, the kid was certainly determined to lose sleep. And for Tony, too. With a sudden jolt, the billionaire realized he didn’t exactly mind having someone with him, either. He swallowed, fighting the smile that played on his lips.

“Well, it’s just you and me then, huh?”

“As long as you want.” Deep brown eyes met his, and although Peter looked perfectly happy and at home in the lab, the kid was still rubbing his eyes every few minutes, stifling quiet yawns and blinking blearily as Tony worked.

At first the older man ignored most of it - after all, the kid didn’t seem intent on leaving without Tony, and the engineer was still working on a design for Cap’s new shield that he didn’t want to put on pause. So Tony continued working for about an hour, his mind drifting off to a familiar plethora of equations.

During the night, Peter’s chair somehow found itself inching closer and closer to Tony, the blanket around his shoulders just barely hanging on with one side grazing the lab floor. Tony hadn’t noticed until the kid was practically on top of him, one cheek pressed against his arm as he dozed off, and Tony didn’t shrug him off.

He wrapped an arm around his kid, and pulled the warmth of another person tight against his chest.

“T’ny…?” Peter shuffled with a groan and a small mumble, strands of hair falling over his eyes. Tony pushed them gently out of the way.

“Shhh….go to sleep, Pete. I’ll be there in the morning.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Darkness._

_There was a cold light behind him, pulsing and beaming through his skin as he sputtered weakly. The ice hadn’t even disappeared from his veins before they were plunging him beneath the surface again, his chest aching like an open wound._

_Burning - his lungs were on fire._

_No, not fire. Water._

_His lungs were burning with water, charred and dripping and black with agony._

_He was going to die._

_The Ten Rings were going to kill him, alone in the cold darkness of a deadly Afghanistan, his last words irrelevant and already dissipating in the musty air._

_Gone._

 

 

* * *

 

Tony awoke with a jolt and a cry, his chest heaving and the arc reactor bouncing up and down with each panicked gasp. He was gone, he was lost and he was gone and he was never seeing Pepper or Rhodey or Happy again, he was never seeing his kid, not ever again -

His kid.

Peter?

Tony turned, and the boy’s small frame was sprawled across the table, lips slightly parted in sleep. Peter’s blanket had slid down onto the floor, and Tony moved to pick it up and gently drape it back over him.

Tony felt somehow at ease seeing him so silent, without a trace of the usual giddiness and excitement that filled his body every other hour of the day. He’d even say Peter looked strangely peaceful wrapped in a warm blanket, his soft curls unruly and breaths even.

“Mist’r St’rk?” Shit. Tony hadn’t realized the kid was still awake.

“Hey, kiddo.” A gentle, calloused hand ruffled Peter’s hair, one finger swiping playfully at his cheek. “Just go back to bed, okay? I’m gonna stay up a little later to finish something, but you can go ahead without me.”

“Wha…” Peter rubbed his eyes. “No, no, I-I’m fine….I wanna stay up with you….”

“I’ll be okay, Pete. You’re falling asleep.”

“No.” The kid was forcing himself to sit up now, his body swaying dangerously in the chair. Tony reached out an arm to steady him, but Peter jerked away as if he’d been burned.

“Pete?”

“I don’t -” Peter was fully awake now, his eyes wide and panicked, fingers clenching at Tony’s shirt. “I don’t want to go to sleep.”

“What?”

“D-don’t make me go to sleep. Please.”

“Hey, hey…” Tony reached for him again, and this time Peter leaned heavily into his touch, tears breaking through the corners of his eyes and spilling down onto his cheek. “What’s going on, kid?”

“I….” Peter swallowed. “Nightmares. I keep getting nightmares.”

“Oh, Peter….”

“They won’t stop.” Peter sniffled. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t go to bed, Mr. Stark, or the Vulture’s gonna come and hurt Aunt May, or he’ll trap me under that building again, or he’ll come and hurt you too, and sometimes _you’re_ under there and I can’t save you, and I -”

 _Peter was scared of someone hurting - not just Aunt May or himself - but Tony, too._ It felt wrong, to have someone care that much for him. The kid’s voice broke into a sob, and Tony’s chest felt like it was splitting at the seams.

When Howard Stark was still alive, at the height of his career, he’d made Stark Industries a meticulously organized company. Plots and strategies and business plans littered the depths of Tony’s mind, and from birth he’d known that there was a protocol for everything.

But there was no protocol for a crying child in his arms.

So Tony did the only thing he knew.

He held his kid, and that night the two stayed up together, the plans for Cap’s shield laid forgotten on the table, swapped out for a mug of coffee and a conversation.

Peter didn’t sleep that night, and the nightmares didn’t stop for a long, long time.

But Tony made sure he was there for every one of them.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, this was supposed to be VERY fluffy. Like, cotton-candy fluff.
> 
> But if you've read either of my other works, you'll know that I'm terrible at resisting angst. So, here it is - a batch of nightmares and depression, just for you.
> 
> Anyway, stay tuned for the next chapter! The rest of this is supposed to be loosely Christmas themed, and I'm hoping to get the last chapter of this fic out by Christmas day. Hopefully I'll actually get it done lol. Leave kudos for good luck?


	2. Baby, It's Cold Outside

“-eter?”

 _T’ny?_ Peter blinked sluggishly, a dull ache forming in his limbs as he awoke with a groan. 

“PETER!”

Peter opened his eyes to a stream of cold blue light against his brow, flinching back immediately at the feeling of ice against his palms. Shit, that hurt. He’d never forget how brutal the first winter as Spiderman had been - Peter was no stranger to piling on 3 coats at once and toting a blanket with him everywhere he went - but this seemed about ten times worse. Hell, it _sucked._

A familiar face swam into his blurry vision, and Peter blinked up at his mentor with a stifled grunt. “What _happened_?”

Tony’s brows furrowed with concern, the familiar wrinkles that lined his face appearing more sharply than usual. “You don’t remember?”

“Well….” Peter forced himself to think, but his brain seemed to pound against the inside of his skull like a mallet. Ugh. This _really, really_ sucked. “....I remember getting hit in the head.”

“Yeah, kid - with a two pound block of ice.” Tony huffed, steadying him with an outstretched hand. “Your pupils are blown to hell. Probably a concussion.”

“Just great.” Peter leaned into his warmth, already starting to shiver in the cold. He could’ve sworn he saw his breath snake up into the air, spiraling deep into the folds of ice above him.

 _Shit._ Peter blinked.

Ice. They were surrounded by _ice._ Pure, solid blue ice - the two seemed to be trapped in a small, almost completely dark space with thick walls of it. His head throbbed.

“What the hell?”

“We got ambushed, Pete. Didn’t even have our _suits_ on,” Tony explained wearily. “He called himself Iceman.”

“Ten points for originality,” Peter scoffed, pulling closer to Tony. The billionaire didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around the kid and bury him against his chest.

“Your name is Spiderman, kid. Don’t think you should be talking.”

“And you think Ironman is much better?”

“Never said that. To be fair, I hadn’t quite gotten off the booze yet back then. Not the best time to choose a superhero name, if I’m being honest.”

Peter didn't miss the stiffness in Tony's voice. He knew the billionaire didn't like to talk about his past addictions, especially in his younger years, and it suddenly hit Peter then that Tony was actually comfortable enough with him to mention it. It seemed like just yesterday they were brushing off a hug as a lean towards Happy's car door.

The two fell into an easy silence. Peter strained to remember what had gotten them stuck in what was seemingly a giant ice cube in the first place. So far, he could only place a few blurry images in his head - a man with white armor and a staff, spikes of gleaming ice, dark spots in his vision as he fell to the sound of Tony’s desperate voice.

So, not his best fight, evidently.

“Someone’s coming for us, right?” Peter mumbled into Tony’s shirt. The ice was starting to seep into his jeans, wetting the denim and freezing straight through to his skin. He shivered.

Tony paused. Peter’s heart sank.

“I can’t get a signal on my phone, kid. Ice’s too thick.”

“Oh.” Another pause. “How long have we been here so far?”

“My guess? About fifteen minutes.” Peter groaned inwardly. They'd be waiting in the cold for hours before anyone even noticed they were gone, and he honestly wished he'd stayed asleep longer.   
  
No. No, he didn't. Guilt churned in his gut at just the thought of leaving Tony to shiver alone, worrying about him in some damp block of frozen ice in the middle of nowhere. If anything, with Peter asleep, Tony would worry himself to death before the cold even thought to touch him. 

“Wonderful.”

“We’ll get outta here somehow, kid. You’ll see.”

“I hope so. It’s fucking _freezing._ ”

Tony huffed a laugh. “Watch your language, Pete.”

“We’re stuck in a giant ice cube in the middle of nowhere after losing a fight to some guy named _Iceman_ , and _that’s_ what you’re worried about?”

“Yes, you’ve got it exactly.”

Peter’s teeth were chattering. The cold seemed to swirl around him, biting his skin with teeth sharper than a blade. Softly, he could hear Tony’s heart thud against his chest, the perfect beat to the headache that spun his mind in nauseating circles. His mentor’s skin was warm; Peter felt like he was being frozen solid, and it only felt natural to burrow himself against Tony. Strangely enough, instead of pushing him away, the billionaire's grip on him tightened.

“Body heat, Peter,” Tony explained before Peter could even open his mouth to tease him.

“Mhm…”

“Don’t take it the wrong way, intern.”

“You know you love me.”

Silence. Peter craned his neck to glance up at Tony, and the older man sighed. “Yeah, kid. I do.”

Just four words - but Peter had known Tony long enough to know that his mentor didn’t give _I love you’s_ away for nothing. Tony thought they were going to die.

It was a goodbye, not an _I love you._ Not a true one, at least.

But then again, why couldn’t it be both?

“Well, I love you, too.” Peter hated how his voice sounded - thin with fear, as if the ice had shredded his vocal cords into ribbons. “And we’re getting out of here, Mr. Stark. Someone’s gonna notice we’re gone soon enough.”

Tony tensed, and Peter could feel the cold tremor that gripped his muscles. “I know, Pete.”

Peter tried to stifle his shivers - he could definitely see his breaths, now. The ice was so thick not a shred of light seemed to penetrate it, save for a couple of thinner spots that Iceman had apparently missed. Peter disentangled himself from Tony to peer out of the closest spot, but his concussion reared nastily then, tripping him for a second in a disoriented stumble - he didn’t miss the way Tony’s arms shot up immediately to catch him as he fell back.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah….just dizzy.”

“Hang in there, kid.”

“Would be faster if we could just break out.”

“Not really, Pete. The ice is too thick for even you to punch through, and we’re on a road trip in the middle of nowhere. No one’s coming for a while. We’re gonna have to stick it out for a couple of hours, minimum.”

Peter could barely fathom handling a couple more _minutes_. “I’m really _cold_.”

It seemed like a stupidly obvious thing to say, but there wasn’t much else. Their situation was….grim, to say the least. With the two seemingly on the road, no one was going to notice something was wrong until at least the end of the day.

How long could a person survive in ice?

Peter didn’t know, but he at least knew it wouldn’t be long enough.

“I know, Pete.” Tony sent him a small smile. “Just don’t fall asleep, okay? Promise me.”

“I promise.”

 

* * *

 

He was dying.

He was sure he was dying.

Tony’s touch was now ice-cold, his skin pale and grayer than Peter remembered.

A slow fire seemed to burn its way deep into his skin, and Peter could hardly breathe without feeling like sharp blades were digging through his lungs. Everything just _hurt._

They were screwed.

Utterly, horribly screwed.

Tony wasn’t warm anymore (in fact, he was freezing), but Peter shifted closer to him anyway, his face resting against Tony’s neck. He smelled like motor oil and, for some strange reason, cinnamon. He smelled like home.

Would it be so bad, dying like this? Peter imagined the cold sheen of blue ice dancing around them, Tony's arms bracing his shoulders, a soft silence brushed between them - it would be peaceful. Still. Quiet. The two would stay together the entire time, trading body heat when there wasn't any to go around, and Tony would be muttering soft assurances and tucking his fingers into Peter's hair, telling him that it would be okay and everything was alright and that they were going to be fine, like he always did. No matter if it was true or not.

And as Peter drifted off, his last memory would be Tony's smile, his warmth and his words and his scent.

No, it wouldn't be so bad, dying together. 

A deep numbness had taken over Peter’s limbs, and he blinked sluggishly at the ice in front of him. Tony was still shivering violently beside him; the two had resorted to alternating turns wearing Tony’s thin suit jacket, although it didn’t help much against the ice.

“W-when do you think s-someone w-will notice?” Peter readjusted the jacket around his shoulders. “I d-don’t think I can g-go much longer…”

“Just hold on, kid.” Tony shot a glance at him, and Peter flinched at the raw _fear_ in his eyes. Fear for _him._ “I should’ve figured out a way to help you thermoregulate the minute you told me.  _Dammit._ ”

“N-not your fault….” Peter sighed. “I’m t-tired….”

“Don’t fall asleep, Peter.”

“I’m t-trying.”

They stayed that way for what felt like hours, Peter drifting in and out of coherency, the numbness spreading across his body like a plague. He could’ve sworn he’d felt his Uncle Ben settle down beside him at one point, but every time Peter strained weakly to look at him, he’d disappear.

Tony’s hair was littered with sharp ice crystals, and Peter could feel them hanging from his own curls. The older man carded a hand gently through them, brushing the shards out from his scalp, and mumbled quiet reassurances in the thin, cold air.

Tony estimated that it took about another hour for Peter to stop shivering.

The kid was practically wrapped around him, arms strapped across his chest, and Tony did his best to make his numbing arms hold him closer. A thick, awful silence plagued them, and Tony stayed sane in its wake by counting Peter’s breaths.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

He could feel him slowing down, like a locomotive nearing its exhausted end.

Five.

Six.

Peter moved weakly against Tony’s chest. The billionaire could’ve sworn he’d heard him whisper something. “What’s that, kid?”

Seven.

Eight.

“No camping trip is worth this much trouble.” Peter’s voice was thin and strained, but he huffed a laugh. “It’s….stupid.”

“I d-did say it was a damn good spot, didn’t I?”

“Mhm…” Peter’s voice was almost too soft to hear. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark.”

“Peter.”

No.

“ _Peter._ ”

_No no no no._

“Kid, _please_ !” Tony shook the boy roughly, flinching at the way the kid's head lolled back and forth - lifeless. He wasn't gone. God, he wasn't gone. He fucking  _couldn't_ be.

Peter stirred weakly. “Ben?”

He almost cried with relief, trembling hands reaching immediately to cup Peter’s face. “Hey, hey….I got you. I got you. No falling asleep, remember?”

“Ben….?” Shit. His uncle. Tony remembered researching Peter before they’d first met, his eyes scanning over an old news article about a man who’d been shot dead in front of his nephew.

 _Ben Parker, wherever you are, I’ve got your kid. He’s fucking_ dying _. Please, please - if there’s any part of you left, if there’s any fucking semblance of good out there - help him._

“Yeah, I’m….I’m here,” Tony replied shakily, his stomach twisting at the idea of impersonating Peter’s fucking _dead uncle._ But he wasn’t ready to let the kid down. Not in what looked like his last moments.

“No, you’re not. You….died.” Tony’s heart shattered.

“Yeah, Pete. Doesn’t mean I can’t be with you.”

Peter fell silent, and for a moment Tony thought he was gone. But the kid tensed.

“H-hey, Ben?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Can you do me a favor?”

Tony pursed his lips. “Sure, Peter. Depends on the favor.”

“Keep Mr. Stark safe for me, okay?”

_What?_

“I don’t know if you can keep people from dying, wherever you are right now, but I need you to….keep him safe. If….if I’m gone….that’s okay. Just make sure he gets out of here.”

Tony couldn’t speak.

“Promise?”

“Kid….”

“ _Promise.”_ The kid’s voice was watery. “ _Please.”_

Tony just wanted to fucking die.

“Only if you keep your promise to him.”

“My p-promise?” Peter shifted, just barely, to look up at his mentor with red-rimmed eyes.

“Stay awake, Pete. Whatever you do, stay _here._ ”

_Please, just stay with me. Just a little longer, kid._

Peter shifted slightly in his arms. His eyes were half-lidded, but they were open. 

“....I promise.”

 

* * *

 

 

"Hey, Pete. It's me. 

I don't know if you can hear me, but....it's Tony. And, um....I have a few minutes with you before Bruce kicks me out again, so....I'll make it quick.

The doctors said you'll be okay, and you should wake up in about a day, if we're lucky, which is a big fucking relief, kid. Hell, I really thought that you.... _god,_ I was so  _scared._

Pete, you have  _no fucking idea._ You have no idea how much I.....

God, what would I have done if you'd died, kid? What the hell was I gonna do?

I might as well have died with you.

Sorry, this is getting....off topic. I just....I wanted to say I'm really proud of you. I don't really know why I'm saying this - it's not like you'll remember when you wake up, but....you stayed awake, kid. You stayed awake, and you survived, and when they rescued us you were right there with me, and Bruce practically fell apart trying to stabilize you, but you did it. Just like you promised.

You made it all this way, Pete. You've only got so much more to go. 

If, somehow, the doctors were wrong, and....and you don't wake up....

Just wake up, okay? It's been two days since the rescue....and I miss you. I need you to come home.

I just need it."

 

* * *

 

 Peter woke up that day to a disheveled-looking Tony asleep beside his bed, mouth wide open in a half-snore.

"Psst - Mr. Stark!" 

The kid's voice was barely strong enough to raise above a whisper, but Tony stirred anyway, his eyes half glazed as they blinked slowly awake. There was an awkward split second before they found Peter's face, but then they held, a deep silence stringing between the two, neither knowing exactly how to react to the other.

"Peter?" Tony's voice was soft, as if he couldn't believe it. Peter beamed.

" _Mr. Stark."_

" _Kid._ " Tony's arms were wrapped around him within a second, his hands quickly finding Peter's curls, and a loud, booming laugh ripped from his lips then, one that Peter had never heard the full extent of before. But there it was, clear and bold and happy, and Peter joined in with a grin.

"God, kid, I was so worried." Tony pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

"I know. I heard you."

"I swear, I'm never letting you out of my sight again. I'm mother-henning you for the rest of eternity, you hear me?"

"I just woke up, and you're already grounding me?" Peter shoved down the smile that threatened to quirk up his lips, replacing it instead with a fake pout. Tony huffed.

"Definitely, Pete. No more camping trips for....at least the next ten years."

Well. That part Peter could at least agree with.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone! I know I said I'd finish this fic by Christmas day, but life is a bitch and I wasn't able to update (although I have the next few chapters written and ready for editing, so the wait shouldn't be too long). The rest of this should be progressing through New Years. 
> 
> Again, really sorry for the wait! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and happy holidays!


	3. Lullaby

Peter hadn’t _meant_ to be up this late.

Decathlon practice was just really heating up - with Michelle’s glare trained on him like a sniper scope every day in class, Peter really didn’t think he’d survive trying to skip practice again. Plus, no one could deny he was getting rusty - if only he had the _time_ to actually improve.

But instead, Peter was hunched over his desk feverishly writing two research papers, sorting through a hefty stack of flashcards for his Spanish test (doom was inevitable with that one), finishing a packet of practice problems for Calculus, and jotting down two chapters’ worth of history notes.

And, of course - he _still_ hadn’t eaten dinner or showered. Hell, he was still in his Spiderman suit; he’d been too exhausted after his patrol to change, and he figured it was better not to disturb the kaleidoscope-worthy splatter of bruises across his stomach, anyway. With the almost nonexistent amount of sleep he was getting that week, his patrols were bound to get sloppy. To be honest, Peter was just glad to still be alive at that point.

If anything, it probably won’t be criminals that kill him, though.

It’ll be homework.

Peter groaned and rubbed his eyes, turning warily toward the clock. _3:15 AM. Just great._

Frustration brewed hot and sharp against his chest. Calculus problems. History notes. Spanish test. English papers. It was too much. There was no way he was getting it all done.

Was an A really worth his will to live? Was it worth the dark circles he was bound to get?

The answer, apparently, was yes. Or at least, that’s what he told himself as he reluctantly readjusted his grip on the pencil and began writing again. At that point, he could barely remember what he was writing _about._

His mind was filled with cotton - fuzzy, messy, unusable. He felt like he was drifting, flying up into the black paint of the night sky that glimmered just behind the blinds that covered his bedroom window.

If he was with Tony, on a night like this, the older man would probably brew at _least_ two cups of rich, steaming coffee for each of them, stirring in exactly the right amount of everything, just the way Peter liked it. It’d be quiet in the lab as they worked - but not because they didn’t have anything to talk about.

It wouldn’t be a deafening silence either. It would be comforting, warm. Peter would probably be tired, but at least he wouldn’t be alone.

But Tony wasn’t with him tonight, and May was asleep. Peter was alone with a couple equations and half-memorized Spanish phrases.

A loud blare jolted Peter back to reality, and he fumbled clumsily for his phone, answering the call before it could wake May up. _Who the hell would call at three in the morning?_

“Kid?” Scratch that - Peter knew someone who definitely would. And, apparently, already had.

“Mr. Stark?” His voice was barely a sluggish mumble. “What’s up?”

“What’s up with you, Pete?” Concern colored Tony’s unusually low voice. “FRIDAY says you’ve been in the suit for, what, five hours straight now? And you’ve just been….sitting there.”

“Homework,” Peter sighed. “I got back from patrols and I was too tired to take the suit off. ‘S not a big deal.”

“Uh, I say it _is_ a big deal. How are you too tired to take off a _suit_? Have you even showered? Did you eat dinner?”

“Bye, _Mom._ ”

“That’s Dad to you.” Peter could hear the smirk on Tony’s smug face. “And we’re not done yet, kid. Why the hell are you up at three in the morning in the first place?”

“I told you, homework.”

“There’s no way one kid should get _that_ much work.”

“Spiderman and decathlon got in the way, I guess. Everything’s just….catching up to me.” Peter yawned and swiped a hand across his eyes.

“Pete, if you’re having this much trouble, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s not a big deal, _Dad._ ” There was a brief pause on the other end, and Peter blushed. His heart hammered. _Was that too much?_

He was about to stammer a quick apology when Tony began speaking again, his voice surprisingly gentle. “You can tell me anything, you know. Even if you think it’s too simple, too small - it’s important to _me._ Alright?”

Peter sighed. “I don’t wanna give you anything else to worry about.”

“Too late, kid.” Peter heard an earth-shattering clang outside his window. “I’m already worrying, and doing something about it.”

 _Oh no._ “Don’t tell me that sound outside was you.”

“Nice to see you too.”

“Please tell me you’re not out there right now. Please, _please_ tell me you’re at the tower or at the compound sipping a-a _margarita_ or something with Pepper and laughing at cat videos on Youtube.”

“That’s….oddly specific. But no, I’m actually here. And stuck outside - open the window, kid.”

Groaning, Peter slid out of his chair and stomped to the window, throwing it open with a breezy _whoosh_. The cold night air poured silently through as the Iron Man suit slid clumsily inside, knocking into a pile of books on the way.

“Ah. Not my best landing.”

“What are you _doing_ here?” Peter hissed, throwing a glance at his open bedroom door. If May woke up to find a literal tin can of mass destruction prowling around in his room, she’d riot.

“What do you think? I’m helping my favorite intern out.” Tony’s voice was slightly muffled behind the mask, and in all honesty, the familiar sound made Peter feel slightly better.

Tony had really flown all the way to Peter’s apartment, just as he’d been missing him. It was like someone had answered his wish, and the feeling was….Peter didn’t know what to say. But something warm swelled deep in his chest, and he fiddled nervously with his hands.

“I….um….”

“I know.” Peter could almost see the twinkle in Tony’s eyes, even inside the suit. “You’re welcome.”

The suit slid smoothly open, and Tony stepped out, all gray sweatpants and tangled hair, looking about ten times more casual than Peter usually saw him. “So, what are we doing?”

“Oh, um…” Peter glanced over at his desk, cringing at the mess of crumpled papers, highlighters, pencils, and the occasional snack wrapper. _Slob._ “I have two essays to write for English, some practice problems for Calculus, and some history notes to do. And I have to study for decathlon and Spanish.”

Tony let out a long whistle, his eyes bugging out at the sight of the desk. “You kids have to deal with this _every night_?”

“It’s usually not this bad…” Peter smiled sheepishly. “I’ve just been….overwhelmed. Spiderman stuff, you know? At least I don’t have to run a company _and_ be a superhero.”

Tony snorted. “Looking at this, I think running Stark Industries might be easier than high school.”

“Great. That’s real reassuring, Mr. Stark,” Peter mumbled sarcastically, flopping down on his chair with a sigh. “I guess we better get started, huh?”

Tony grinned. “After you, Mr. Parker.”

 

* * *

 

 

The two ended up splitting the work - Peter finished up the two essays while Tony moved through the flashcards, asking them aloud for Peter to answer. Occasionally, the older man would also walk him through a particularly difficult Calculus problem, which was better than looking it up online, at least. Peter didn’t know how exactly to say it, but he was grateful. And he thought Tony could probably tell, anyway.

“Ok, this is an easy one. Who introduced the theory of punctuated equilibrium?”

“Uh…” Peter wracked his brain. “Gould and Eldredge?”

“Correct!” Tony banged a pencil on the table for emphasis, throwing his hands up in mock celebration. “And the crowd goes _wild_!”

Peter laughed. “Well, I’m pretty much done with everything.” He checked the clock - 5:47 A.M. It was still dark out, and Peter could probably sneak in an hour of sleep before he had to leave for school.

“Hm. You going to bed?”

“Yeah….” Peter yawned, drowsiness suddenly weighing his eyelids down like anchors thrust over the deck of a ship. “I can at least….get _some_ sleep.”

Was the ground getting….fuzzier?

“Hey, hey…” Peter felt strong hands catch him as he tipped over, already half-asleep and heavy-lidded. “Alright, I got you, kid.”

“Tired.”

“Yeah, I know. You deserve a good nap, after last night. Or, technically….” Tony huffed a laugh. “...this morning.”

“I guess I do.” Peter curled against Tony’s chest as the man lifted him gently into bed, a hand fisted in his curls as he slowly lowered the kid’s head down on a pillow.

Peter mumbled something unintelligible.

“I have no idea what you just said, but I’m assuming it’s something about how insanely awesome I am.” Tony smirked. “And, you know, I’m not exactly _disagreeing..._ ”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“What?”

“That’s what I said.”

Oh. _Oh._ Tony blinked, pushing down the warm feeling that surged in his chest with a swallow. “I….yeah, of course, kid. Anytime.”  
  
“G’night.”

Calloused hands stretched the sheets snug over Peter’s body. For a second, they hovered gingerly over Peter’s face, almost hesitantly - but then they slid down again, a thumb swiping gently down Peter’s cheek.

“Sweet dreams, kid.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao remember when I said this fic would be finished by Christmas? :P
> 
> Seriously though, I'm really, really sorry that I'm so terrible at updating. I've been swamped with homework, volunteering, stressful family stuff, and just general writer's block lately, so it's been hard to actually sit down and write. 
> 
> Still, I decided to go ahead and squeeze this chapter out in honor of the Spiderman: Far From Home trailer that came out today (which, by the way, was amazing!) What did you guys think?


	4. Moon Song

Tony couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt anything as blissful.

The stars churned like a black ocean wave, spilling smoothly into one another, a dark lavender backdrop to Peter’s carved silhouette. The boy’s legs dangled over the side of the roof, feet swinging in mid-air, and Tony sat beside him, one hand secured on a glass of sparkling cider, the other wrapped around his kid.

Just for a moment, he wished they could stay forever.

The city was below them, its neverending bustle and noise and smell so far beneath their feet, small and insignificantly distant. Detached.

The sky was above, looming like a painted roof - a galactic Sistine Chapel, and _god_ was it gorgeous - subtle lavender hues and a speckle of stars and the _moon_ , red and gray and gold.

A super blood wolf moon, Peter had called it one morning, bursting into the kitchen to steal a granola bar from the pantry.

“Sounds like a Twilight sequel,” Tony scoffed with a smirk, ruffling Peter’s hair as he passed by.

“Seriously, though.” Peter bit a chunk from his apple and covered his mouth as he chewed. “It’s supposed to be super cool.”

“Well, when’s this thing gonna happen?”

 “This Sunday.” Peter’s eyes lit up. “We should watch it together!”

“What, spend two hours of my life watching the same white speck in the sky? Hard pass.” Even as he said it, though, Tony’s heart was set.

And now, looking up at the copper moon itself, a rusting penny harnessed to the black sky, he didn’t regret it one bit. 

Not that he thought he would in the first place.

Peter shifted beside him, and suddenly Tony felt the kid’s warm weight press against his side. He adjusted his grip to let the kid lean comfortably into him, his cheek against Tony’s shoulder, the kid’s breaths deep as they brushed past him into the still night air.

Still. It was quiet, like a living photograph.

Peter was the first to break the silence. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Tony took a sip of his drink. “For once, you being a weird astronomy nerd actually paid off.”

“Hey!” Peter shoved him playfully, and Tony pushed back with a chuckle.

“I swear, kid - push me off this building, and you’re toast.”

“You know I wouldn’t let you fall.” Peter straightened and met his eyes, his gaze serious again. “I'd catch you.”

“I know, buddy.” Tony smiled. “I wouldn’t let you fall, either. You got that?”

“Yeah.” Peter pressed his nose into Tony’s shoulder, a contented sigh escaping his lips. There was a pause before he spoke again. "What do you think it'd be like, being the man in the moon?"

"Well, for starters, he isn't real."

"Yeah, but...." Peter frowned. "If he was, do you think he'd be lonely up there?"

"Well, no one else lives there, considering there's no oxygen and it can reach 200 below freezing at night."

"It feels like 200 below freezing right  _now._ " The kid's teeth chattered.

“You want another blanket?” Tony had already brought one out for the two of them to share, but Peter had been hogging most of it and still ended up shivering. They _really_ needed to fix his thermoregulation problem. After what had happened before, with the Iceman....Tony didn't think he'd survive if something happened to Peter again.

“No, it’s okay. I...don’t want to ruin the moment, you know? It’s perfect, right now.”

“Sounds like we should go stargazing more often, kid.”

“We should.” Peter shifted, wrapping the blanket snug around his shoulders. His hair was unruly, curls bouncing against his forehead as he moved, and Tony gently pushed a particularly springy one out of his eyes. “I like stars, Mr. Stark. I….really, really like them.”

“And why is that, kid?”

“I don’t really know.” He smiled. “It’s just….there’s this song I heard once. There was a line from it - ‘you taught me the courage of stars before you left, how light carries on endlessly, even after death.’ And it helped me a lot, after Ben died.”

Tony tangled a hand in Peter’s hair, playing carelessly with his curls until the tension melted from the kid’s shoulders. He knew Ben was a hard topic for Peter to talk about, especially on a night like this, when it was quiet out and his thoughts were especially loud.

“That’s pretty, kid.”

“I know, right?” Peter’s eyes glimmered. “I think it might’ve been one of the best songs I’ve ever heard. It just….it made me feel okay, you know? Like I wasn’t alone anymore.”

“You feel alone?” Tony frowned.

“Yeah, I mean - everyone feels alone sometimes. It’s like, the universe is so big, and I’m so small, and sometimes I feel like I’m the only one here. Like I’m stuck in this black sky and no one can hear me.” Peter picked at his blanket. “It’s depressing, I know.”

“Yeah, it’s depressing.” Tony gripped Peter’s shoulder with a hand, letting the kid’s wide eyes meet his before he continued. “But you know what? That’s okay. It’s okay that some things are sad, and it’s okay to _be_ sad. Sometimes I feel like that too.”

“You do?”

“Kid, after my parents died, you know I didn’t have the best time. That period was….it was bad. And I was sad, Peter. I still am, some days. But that’s okay, because you know what? The rest of the days, the days that aren’t sad - I spend them with Pepper and Rhodey. I spend them with Steve and the Avengers. I spend them with _you._ And they’re not sad, kid. Those are good days.”

Tony smiled. “No one ever just has a sad life. Everything is peppered with moments, and sometimes we get to choose what kind we want. But sometimes we don’t.”

"What if we could? What if we could be happy all the time?"

"If you don't have a few bad days, you can't appreciate the good ones." Tony groaned. "Great. I sound like a Tumblr quote."

Peter threw his head back with a laugh. It was a loud, genuine laugh, and it was the best sound Tony had ever heard.

"You've never laughed that hard at any of my jokes before."

"That's cause your jokes are never funny." Peter grinned cheekily. "No offense, Mr. Stark, but there's a reason you're an engineer and not a comedian."

"I'm an engineer because of my genius intellect, actually." Tony crossed his arms. "But there's no way I couldn't be a stand-up comedian on the side, maybe work a few nights every week. What do you say? You could be my dorky assistant."

"If anything,  _you'd_ be  _my_ dorky assistant."  
  
"Watch it, kid." Peter only snorted another laugh, and Tony rolled his eyes, trying to keep the grin off his face. 

There was a beat of silence. The kid stifled a yawn, turning back towards the sky with a sigh.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“And thank you for a good day, kid.” Tony smiled. “A blanket, a bottle of cider, and the moon. What else is there in life?”

“Star Wars,” Peter mumbled. Tony barked a laugh, and it echoed out onto the street below.

“You wanna stay up and have a marathon tonight?”

“With popcorn? And hot chocolate?”

“Sure, why not?”

Peter’s eyes were bright, and he smiled. “Let’s wait a second, though. Just another minute out.”

“We’ve got all the time in the world, Peter.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Peter references in this chapter is Saturn by Sleeping At Last, btw! I've seen it associated with Irondad a few times, but I also just really love it as a song and wanted to include it. This was such a fun chapter to write - I love anything to do with astronomy, and the blood moon was astonishing to watch last night!
> 
> Anyway, Chapter 5 is almost done, so stay tuned! And, as a side note, make sure you enjoy this fluffy chapter while you can....there's angst coming ;)


	5. Fight Song

Peter’s fists were poised at chin level, cloth wraps wound around his knuckles. He’d already taken out two punching bags, apparently, both of which were slumped miserably in a corner of the training room, and was going in for a third.

Tony leaned against the doorframe, an eyebrow raised as Peter went for punch after punch after punch, a trail of sweat dripping down his nose.

The kid’s teeth were grit against each blow, his brows furrowed in concentration, and Tony couldn’t help but flinch at each heavy grunt that escaped the kid’s lips.

Anger radiated from Peter’s arched form, from his tattered sneakers, from his sweat-stroked hair and his heaving breaths and the darkness behind his eyes.

The bag swung wildly from Peter’s last blow. Tony held his breath, sure it would split and fly right off the hook, but somehow it held its ground.

Peter reeled his fist back to strike one last time - Tony was sure he’d wipe the bag out completely - but then he stopped.

Tony swallowed. Peter’s eyes flicked over to meet his.

_Shit._

“Mr. Stark?” The kid straightened, his eyes widening as Tony moved from his place against the doorframe. “I-I thought you were asleep.”

“I _was._ ” The deep bone-ache of exhaustion tugged on his limbs, begging him to crawl back into bed and sleep for another 20 years. “I woke up and heard punching outside. Thought it was an intruder, so I came to investigate.”

Peter raised a brow, a tentative half smile quirking up the corner of his mouth. “Were you worried about me?”

"What makes you think that?” Tony drawled halfheartedly, rigid in the doorway. Peter just laughed.

“You thought there was an intruder _attacking_ me, didn’t you? And you came to save me?”

“No idea what you’re talking about, kiddo.”

“No _way_!” Peter was beaming now, and Tony grit his teeth against the smile that was crawling up his throat. _Damn that smirk._ “Admit that you _love_ me.”

“Stop.”

“You _loooove_ me,” Peter teased, bouncing up and down like a fourth-grader in the middle of the sparring area.

“If anything, kid, I was looking out for myself.” Tony folded his arms. “And you can’t blame me, considering it’s three in the morning and literally no one should be awake right now, especially with the racket you’re making down here.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.” Tony frowned. “You’re a growing kid - you need as much sleep as you can get.”

“Who’s not worrying now?”

“ _Peter._ ” He sighed, running a hand down his face. He was getting _way_ too old for bubbly teenagers and 3 AM interrogations.

Especially if they involved this particular bubbly teenager.

“Alright, spit it out. Why the hell are you training in the middle of the night?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Why does something always have to be going on? Why can’t I just be….casually training alone at three in the morning?”

“Nobody does that, kid. Answer the question.”

Peter paused, shifting uncomfortably. One of his shoes was untied - god forbid, the kid was a mess - and he looked incredibly out of place in such a high-tech facility in just his sweatpants and a thin white shirt, hair an unruly disaster on his head. It was only then that Tony noticed how tired he looked; dark circles hung stark on his face, and the deep chocolate eyes Tony loved were dull and drawn.

This wasn’t a one time thing, then. Peter must’ve started training late a long time ago.

Had he really only noticed now? Tony silently kicked himself.

What kind of mentor was he? What kind of….father?

Father. It was something to get used to, for sure.

Peter sighed, his hands fiddling nervously at his sides. “You promise you’re not gonna, like, laugh?”

Tony raised a brow. “I won’t laugh if you don’t give me something to laugh about.”

“ _Mr. Stark._ ” Peter all but whimpered up at him, eyes pleading.

Okay. So this was serious.

Not that Tony hadn’t known that. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand that Peter was going through something. It was that he didn’t know how to handle it, or how to help, and when Tony didn’t know something, he usually ended up diffusing it. What could he say? Dry humor was his safety helmet.

“Whatever it is, Pete, I’m here for you, you got that?”

“Pinkie promise?”

Tony groaned. “What are we, five?”

But even as he said it, his pinkie was out and locked around Peter’s. “Okay, I’ve done your weird playground ritual. Now spit it out.”

“Ok, well….” Peter huffed a breath. Swallowed. Played with a strand of thread that hung from the hem of his shirt.  “You know I trust you, right? Probably….probably more than anyone else in my life, other than May and Ned. That night that you helped me study, when I called you my dad…..I remember it. And I meant it - all of it.”

Tony’s gaze softened. “Peter….”

“I’m sorry.” The kid’s eyes were wet. “I’m just….I’m just scared, I guess. I’m really, really scared.”

“Of what?”

A pause.

“I’m bi, Tony. As in….I like guys, too.”

 _Oh._ Tony blinked. “What?”

“I mean, I think so.” Peter gulped. “I don’t know - I don’t….I’m just….yeah. Yeah, I’m bi. I’m….I’m bi. Oh, god. I’m actually saying it. Out loud. To Iron Man.”

“Wait, slow down.” Tony held a hand up. “How am I only just now finding out about this, kid? I feel like I should be at least one of the first _five_ to know.”

“You’re the first one, actually.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “I haven’t really told anyone….and I wasn’t planning to until now.”

“Well….I’m glad you did.”

The kid blinked. “So - you’re not mad?”

“Why on Earth would I be mad, Pete?”

The kid shifted, his eyes trained nervously on the stretch of floor just in front of Tony’s shoes. His voice was quiet. “I….I don’t know.”

Tony sighed. _Time to play the Dad game, Stark. Don’t fuck this up._

There were too many things to say. Too many ways to say “I love you” and “I accept you” and “I’m here.”

Tony stepped closer and, without a warning, pulled the kid into a hug. Peter’s face fell against the crook of his neck, and his breaths were tight, ragged against Tony’s skin. “You’re still the same kid, Peter. I wouldn’t want you any other way. Pinkie swear.”

“God, I was scared you’d say something different. I was scared you’d, I don’t know, kick me out or something.”

Tony pulled away. “You really think I’d do that?”

The kid shook his head. “No....if I really thought it, I wouldn’t have told you in the first place. But a lot of kids go in thinking their parents will be there for them, and….they aren’t.”

“Well, I’m not one of those - parents.” Tony’s voice softened. “And I know you’re scared and sad and probably feeling a million other things, but you can’t just sneak down here every night and punch some sandbags around to make yourself feel better. You’ve gotta talk to me, kid.”

“I just….I’m not worth it, Mr. Stark. I’m not worth you spending your time trying to help me when you could be doing literally anything else in the world.”

“Of course you’re worth my time, you little shit. If you weren’t, why the hell do you think I’d be here right now?”

“I don’t know, _charity_?” Peter’s voice was escalating, his eyes wet. “Face it. I’m nothing but a liability to the team. I’m small, I’m weak, I can’t even fight properly. I’m just a normal kid, and it's not just that I'm bi and I'm scared to....to come out, but it's....everything. There's so many people who need heroes, who need help. I'm not one of those people that can just swoop in and knock out a swarm of bad guys. I'm just me. I don't fit in with the Avengers, and if I come out I know I'm not gonna fit in at school, and I know it's 2019, but so many people would hate Spiderman if they knew who I am and I’m just….disappointing _everyone._ ”

 _Oh, Peter._ “You’re not, kid. You’re so wrong about all this that….I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Peter swiped the back of his hand over an eye, a tired sigh escaping his lips. The two stood awkwardly for a minute, neither knowing exactly what to say. Tony had no idea how to help. It felt like there were a million things he could’ve said, and yet it was like his throat had closed up against the words he needed.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Pete,” Tony tried hesitantly, brushing a hand over the kid’s shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay. It’s all gonna be okay.”

“You think so?”

“You’ll be just fine.” Tony shrugged. “How about….how about we go do something, just the two of us?”

Peter looked up. “Like what?”

“What about a training session? You and me. No Cap yelling at you, no Natasha - I know she scares you - no Rhodey or Sam making fun of your costume - just us. Let’s work on letting out some of that steam, okay?”

Tony couldn’t remember the last time his voice had been that gentle. But the kid wasn’t doing well, and there wasn’t much Tony wouldn’t do to get him back up.

“Ok. Let’s…..let’s train, then.”

“Before we start though, just a warning - you might not be able to keep up with me.”

That got a small smile from the kid. “You sure all your moves aren’t, like, outdated?”

“Did you just call me old?”

“Possibly.”

“I’m perfectly qualified to teach you. And I’ll have you know, I could _floor_ you in a fight right now.”

“I’d like to see you _try._ ”

“Oh yeah?” Tony raised a brow. “You’ve got a lot to learn, kid. Take it from the master himself.”

Peter rolled his eyes in exasperation, but Tony didn’t miss the huff of laughter that left him. “Let’s see what you’ve got, then.”

The fight was on.

Tony didn’t hesitate to lunge straight for the kid, catching him off guard. Peter staggered backwards, his enhanced senses barely keeping him upright, and the two traded hesitant punches for a moment, sizing each other up.

The kid had his fists poised in a classic fighting stance, legs firm on the ground and about a foot apart, but most of his weight was on his left, and Tony could see that he was nervous. If he lunged quickly, the billionaire could probably knock him off balance in a clean sweep.

"Keep yourself alert, Peter. Work on balancing on both feet instead of having all your weight on one side."  
  
Peter regathered himself, shifting his footing uneasily on the mats. Tony already had a good idea of the kid’s fighting style - his weaknesses, his strengths, his improvements - but he gave him time to think before he began moving in.

Peter was the first to strike, catching his jaw with a surprisingly clean uppercut, but even as Tony staggered against the ring, he could tell the kid was keeping his strength to a bare minimum.

“Don’t hold yourself back, kiddo. I need to see you really trying.”

Peter swallowed and dove in again with another shot. Adrenaline shot through Tony’s veins as he dodged it quickly, rolling out of the way and steadying his body for another shot. He moved in to kick the kid’s legs out from under him, but Peter threw himself back just in time to dodge the attack, landing neatly fists up.

“Not bad,” Tony commended. Peter shot him a sheepish grin, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. Electricity seemed to stem between them, the rush of the fight pushing back the bite of Peter’s worries.

The older man shot forward. Peter dodged another attack and delivered a few of his own, knocking Tony down with a particularly nasty punch to the stomach that seemed to cut straight through into his flesh. The ground was harsh against Tony’s hip as he landed awkwardly, a grunt escaping his lips, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Peter pull back slightly, not wanting to hit again.

Big mistake.

The older man rolled forward. He just had time to catch the flash of realization in Peter’s eyes before his feet slammed into the kid’s legs, knocking him flat against the ground with a groan.

The two laid there for a minute, gasping. Ugh. Somehow, that small fight had completely drained him. Tony didn't know whether to blame the fact that it was the middle of the night or - god forbid - old age.

“Man....that’s tougher than it looks.”

“No kidding,” Tony panted. “You’ve got a mean left hook, kid, even if your defense is nonexistent.”

“Hey!” Peter protested. “To be fair, I was nervous.”

“Excuses, excuses.” There was a pause before Tony pushed himself up, his breath catching in his throat.“I do love handing your ass to you, but there was a point to this, you know. You feel any better, Pete?”

The kid smiled to himself, messing idly with the hem of his shirt. “Yeah…..yeah, I actually do.”

“Well, good. At least it paid off, because….if we’re being honest, I’m getting way too old for this.” Tony lowered himself back down with a grunt. “You’re a lot like Cap, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“He has a really bad habit of going on late-night training sessions by himself down here whenever he’s in a mood. The guy can jump clean over 6-foot fences and run 40 miles an hour, but god forbid he opens up to the rest of us like a normal person.”

“You don’t open up either, Mr. Stark.”

“Point is,” Tony raised a finger, cutting Peter off with a smirk. “You’re not just like Cap cause the two of you are emotion-bottling idiots. You’re both some of the strongest people I’ve ever met, Pete.”

“We are?”

“Hell yeah.” Tony crossed his arms. “Look, if you can somehow magically juggle being a teenage superhero and going to one of the best schools in New York at an age when I’d be chugging vodka in some nerd’s backyard and hooking up with prom queens, you can do just about anything.”

Peter smiled. “Thanks, Mr. Stark. Really.”

“It’s no problem, kid.” Tony’s eyelids were like weights threatening to drag him down. “I’m….I’m here for you, if you need me.”

Maybe he really was getting too old for the job. His stomach was still sore from where Peter had punched him, and something ached in his left shoulder. Ugh. It was  _way_ too late at night for a training session. What had he been thinking?

The gym mats suddenly seemed like the best place in the world to just curl up and go to sleep. Peter seemed to be having the same idea - Tony could hear his breaths slowing peacefully, drifting off to sleep. Or maybe those were his own.

Exhaustion tugged on his limbs, and Tony gave in, the hard feeling of the gym mat below him stiffening his muscles.

The last thing Tony remembered was the feeling of someone carrying him up, weightless, into the warmth of his bed. Peter - those were Peter's arms. The kid was hauling him up bridal style, and Tony felt him reach somewhere in the dark and pull the sheets over his legs. He was so, so tired. Too tired to really care about how awkward he'd feel about it in the morning.

He'd worry about it later. For now - sleep.

Peter’s voice drifted above him, something genuine deep in the sound.

“Goodnight, Mr. Stark.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're familiar with Tony carrying Peter to bed - now get ready for....
> 
> Peter. Carrying. Tony. To. Bed.
> 
> I've been obsessed with this idea for a while now, so here's a small snippet for you. I promise I'm done with the angst for this fic, and the next chapter will be purely tooth-rotting, ant-attracting fluff. Pinky promise ;)


	6. Goodnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Avengers: Endgame spoilers in the end notes! Although, if you haven't watched it by now, you've probably already been spoiled :/ sorry

Spring was approaching at a crawl, the cold bite of winter still gnawing at the walls of the tower. The nights came slow, but they were preceded by a combination of pollen allergies and freezing weather for Tony, and he was glad they’d decided to stay in that night.

What he wasn’t glad for, however, was the movie playing onscreen.

“Les Miserables?” Tony had groaned when Peter suggested it. “I don’t know about you, kid, but I’m not up for something that literally translates to ‘The Miserable Ones.’”

“Oh, come on - it’s such a good movie!”

“You really don’t think it’s a tad too depressing?”

Peter huffed. “Hugh Jackman. _Anne. Hathaway_.”

"Tony  _Stark_ ," the older man said, gesturing emphatically towards himself, "is sitting right here, and you're gonna gawk at some other random celebrities?"

"Hey, can you sing, dance,  _and_ act at the same time? Hugh Jackman is a triple kill."

"Well, I can sing, for sure," Tony started, laughing as Peter reached across the couch and shoved his arm good-naturedly. "And I can dance pretty well. I've never been in any movies, sure, but I  _have_ been in several commercials, which I think is a lot cooler than a bunch of dumb movies."

"Yeah, but Hugh Jackman is  _Wolverine_! He's, like, the coolest!"

"Are you seriously impressed that he plays a fictional hero?" Tony raised a brow. "Peter, I'm literally a superhero. A  _real_ one. You, yourself, are a superhero."

"But he's so  _cool_!"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Ok, kid. I get it."

"You know you're still my favorite."

Yeah, he did. But Tony's chest still swelled when Peter said it, and he glanced at the kid with a smile.   
  
The movie began to play, the first strums of music sifting gracefully through the air.

“You know, I’m not sure the French Revolution is the best choice if you’re gonna be watching with a two year old,” Pepper cut in, collapsing onto the couch beside Tony with a half-asleep Morgan in her arms. Tony smirked, reaching his arms out to take the bundle off her hands. Peter paused the movie to look over at the three.

Morgan groaned as she was transferred, reaching a hand up to suck on her thumb.  _Gross._ Tony fought a laugh and smoothed her hair back.

“Two seconds ago, we weren’t watching with a two year old,” He remarked. “Not that I’m not happy to see my little girl.”

“I know, Tony. I tried to get you as much alone time with Peter as possible, but you know how she is. Once a daddy’s girl, always a daddy’s girl. She wouldn’t stop crying for you, but the minute I finally got her downstairs, she fell asleep.”

“Well, it’s just part of my charm.” Morgan stirred, a tiny hand grasping at Tony’s shirt. A lock of hair fell onto her forehead, and he brushed it away as gently as he could.

“She’s growing really fast,” Peter said, his voice soft and almost in awe. “Last time I saw her, she looked like…..well, a baby.”

Guilt spiraled deep in Tony’s gut, and he pushed it down with a sigh. Ever since Morgan had arrived, he’d been….. _distracted_ was the understatement of the century. Tony hadn’t seen Peter in what felt like years, but in reality it had only been a month or two.

He remembered the first time Peter had held Morgan. Pepper had just given birth, her eyes heavy-lidded and her hair splayed like golden rivers across the white sheets as she watched Peter take the small, thrashing bundle from Tony’s arms, cradling her head in the crook of his elbow.

Morgan had arrived screaming, and she was still wild when the nurse had dropped her into Tony’s hands, her mouth open in a seemingly endless cry. And he’d hushed her, gently, with an Italian lullaby he remembered from his mom, the words still ringing clear in his head like they’d only left her lips moments before.

They’d already decided on what to name her.

_Last night, I dreamt we had a kid. It was so real. We named him after your eccentric uncle - what was his name?_

Morgan.

 _Her_ name was Morgan.

Peter loved her from the start. And Morgan - well, she loved Peter.

The Italian lullaby had cut it for about five seconds. Morgan was screaming again, and Pepper’s head was throbbing, and really, Tony had no idea what to do.

Sure, he’d taken down some aliens. Fought an army of robots. Even saved the world a few times - casual stuff.

But - excuse him for being cliche - fatherhood was so, so different. And about a thousand times scarier.

He panicked, and the lullaby rang louder, but it wasn’t any more helpful. Morgan still screamed. Her arms lashed out, squirming irritatedly in his hands.

“Mr. Stark -” Peter said, getting up quickly to help him.

Without thinking, Tony slid her into Peter’s arms, and the screaming didn’t just dim down - it stopped. Morgan seemed to pause for a second, sitting against the warmth of Peter’s touch and his fretting and his care, and she relaxed gradually in his hold.

Quiet - it was quiet.

“Didn’t realize you had such a way with kids,” Tony said, impressed. Peter looked just as shocked as he felt, a hand gingerly cushioning Morgan’s tiny head.

“I - I didn’t know, either.”

“She likes you, Peter.” Pepper smiled from her bed, a warm glint shining in her eyes. “Not that I’m surprised.”

Tony stared at the two - his kids. _His_ kids.

A gentle silence settled on the room - it wasn’t a heavy, crushing silence, but it was a peaceful one. Like sunlight settling, drifting in blankets over the room.

And then Morgan started screaming again.

Tony tore himself from the moment with a chuckle. Pepper had nestled herself under his arm, her head buried in his right side, and Morgan slept against his left, her face hidden by fistfuls of his shirt.

Peter watched them hesitantly from the opposing couch, his fingers mindlessly scrolling through Netflix titles, but not really considering any of them.

Tony swallowed.

It wasn’t a secret that he and Peter had something special. Their bond ran deep, and Tony knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to do anything for the kid. Peter was family. Peter was his, and he was Peter’s.

But Tony hadn’t been there for Peter through everything. He hadn’t known him when he’d gotten the spider bite, and he was probably still in his playboy days when the kid lost his Uncle Ben.

Lost his parents.

But for the first time, with Morgan, Tony had a chance to be there for someone. Fully and unconditionally. For every moment of her life - every heartbreak, every tear, every cry of triumph or excitement. He had been given an opportunity to be there - and he’d taken it.

That was the difference between Peter and Morgan - but, sitting there, Tony realized there really wasn’t a difference at all.

Because although he hadn’t been there for all of Peter’s life, he was there now. Peter might not have been his blood, and he hadn’t been completely his, but he was an _always_ and a _forever_ , one that Tony hadn’t seen in a month.

Sure, it was sappy, but it was true - Peter really was family.

Morgan didn’t change that. Nothing ever would, if Tony had anything to say about it.

So he ushered Morgan closer onto his chest, making room for one more on the couch. Peter stared at the spot for a second, something wordless passing between the two.

And then the kid practically launched himself at it, his body pressing into Tony’s side. Peter curled up, tucked against the older man, and a contented breath escaped his lips.

“It’s been over three months since we did this, you know,” Tony said, gesturing around them with his free hand. Pepper snored softly on his right, and he used his other hand to comb gently through her hair. “And it’s been a month since I last saw you, kid.”

“You seemed busy. I didn’t want to bother you,” Peter mumbled, his words slurring together as exhaustion creeped up on the two of them. A comfortable warmth had settled over the entire room, like the air of a crackling fire, and it lulled Tony into a half-sleep.

“Y’know, you’re my kid, too, Pete. And Morgan doesn’t change that. I love you both.”

“Love you too, Mr. Stark,” Peter sighed, his eyes slipping shut. Tony didn’t try to stop the kid (lord knows he needed more sleep than he got), although it occurred to him then that they’d never actually picked a movie.

“So much for movie night, huh?”

“Guess it’s an excuse for us to meet up again,” Peter murmured. Tony huffed a soft laugh.

“Whatever you say, kiddo.”

Without thinking, a hand reached up to tousle Peter’s curls. He hadn’t done it in a while - but the gesture seemed fluid, natural, as if he’d never stopped. The kid leaned into the touch, his arms wrapping around Tony’s stomach and overlapping Morgan’s.

The room fell into silence again. Tony’s eyes were heavy.

Finally, he could rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kid you not, I couldn't function for two days after I watched Endgame. I got tickets for opening night, and I came excited and so ready to see all the characters I'd grown to love on screen again, and it was.....honestly, it was amazing. But I also came out wanting to sue Marvel.
> 
> Was I the only one who felt completely different after watching the movie? Nothing seemed right afterwards. Even my room just felt wrong, like I'd stepped into a different dimension or something.
> 
> After everything that happened, I'm so scared that the Irondad fandom will collapse without Tony. I know we can run on fanfics and art and our own imaginations, but a part of me is terrified that the fanfics, the art, the fans will slowly trickle out until there's no one left to talk about something that once united all of us. If Endgame taught me anything, it's that everything ends eventually. And I don't want to come out of this forgetting or abandoning a fandom that made such a huge impact on my life. I've only been writing fanfic for a couple months, reading it for a year and a half, but Irondad introduced me to this world. It brought me what I needed when I was in a dark place, and it gave me a tool to cope. I owe that to Tony, and I owe that to Peter. I owe that to Marvel.
> 
> I just wanted to say that no matter what happens, I'm thankful for what Irondad has given me, even if I haven't been in the fandom for that long. I was happy with Endgame overall (definitely a few things I didn't like, but in the grand scope of things, I'm okay with it), and I think everyone involved did a damn good job of pulling together a movie that shouldn't be possible in the first place. This is it, guys. This is eleven years - all ending in one movie.
> 
> So, yeah. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, even if it was short. I'm still probably gonna be writing one-shots and stuff here and there after this, so stay tuned! :)


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